


The Tollbooth

by ratherbehere



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Misunderstandings, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 20:36:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1278118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratherbehere/pseuds/ratherbehere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas meets Dean coming through his tollbooth lane. Ten seconds is hardly enough time to talk to the light haired man, let alone flirt and ask him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tollbooth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onamelancholyhill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onamelancholyhill/gifts).



> Originally posted on [my tumblr](http://caswouldratherbehere.tumblr.com). Written for [Emilia](http://onamelancholyhill.co.vu/). It was her idea, I just wrote it.

Castiel’s Monday started off like all his Monday’s thus far in Chicago had started. He showered, put on his black suit, made his coffee, poured it into his thermos, grabbed his trench coat and headed out the door. He took the back streets to the highway and entered the rat race. He had to go through exactly one toll to get to work, and he hadn’t gotten around to buying his I-Pass yet, meaning he actually had to pay the toll at the both instead of going through the fast I-Pass lanes.

As he slowly works his way through the heavy traffic to the toll, he decides he’ll purchase that I-Pass the moment he gets to work.

That changes the second he pulls up to the actual toll booth and a gorgeous man with sandy hair, skin kissed with freckles, and sharp green eyes mumbles good morning and reaches out a hand for his $3.00.

For a moment, Castiel can’t breathe. He’s literally struck dumb by the site of his toll booth attendant. That’s the only possible explanation for why the only thing he can think to say is, “Can I get a receipt?”

He doesn’t need a damn receipt. It’s not like he’s turning this in as a business expense.

The man gives him an intrigued look, letting his eyes linger on Castiel for a fraction of a second longer than he needed to while the receipt printed. He hands over the piece of paper, grumbling out, “Have a good one,” with an amused look as the bar lifts for him to pass.

Castiel feels off for the rest of the day, like his life had just changed in some way, though he’s not sure how or why.

He’s disappointed the green eyed God isn’t in the booth on the other side for his return trip home.

~

It’s not that he intentionally picked the same lane at the toll, hoping the man would be working the same booth.

Except that it totally is. And he feels ridiculous for it. Who thinks this hard about a toll booth guy? At least this time he’s prepared, so that when the gorgeous man greets him, he’s able to at least say good morning back.

He asks for a receipt again, and tries to convince himself that it was just wishful thinking that the man seemed to perk up a bit when he pulled up. They guy sees thousands of people every day, why would he remember Cas?

~

He may or may not pick the same lane at the toll for the rest of the week. In the 30 second windows that he has with the man, he only grows more intrigued. There’s classic rock playing from a small radio. A picture of a young man who resembles the attendant sits on his counter. One day he spies a Vonnegut book tucked into a corner. He wants to know more, but there’s never enough time to ask. Only enough time to say good morning, to smile, to decide that the man couldn’t possibly mean anything by letting his fingers graze Castiel’s when he hands him his receipt. Even if it does set Cas’s heart rate off all the same.

Friday morning, the man smiles before Castiel’s car is even stopped and says, “Dean.”

“I. Um. What?”

“If you’re going to be stalking my lane, you might as well know my name,” Dean says, holding out his hand for the cash.

Cas nods to himself as he hands across the cash. “Castiel,” he volunteers.

“See ya, Cas,” the man says easily, adopting the nickname only his closest friends and family use. It sounds right somehow though, coming from him. Dean hands him his receipt before he even asks for it and winks.

A car behind him honks and he’s forced to drive off.

~

This goes on for another week, though Dean seems a little more distant than before. He’s not sure if that’s possible, given that they can only exchange a few pleasantries before the cars start honking, but he does seem different somehow. A little less open maybe. The lingering touches seem to stop. Not that it matters, since they meant nothing in the first place.

Still, they develop a strange sort of relationship, living and learning through four to six sentences a day. Castiel manages to ask what his favorite Vonnegut book is. Dean asks him what he does for a living. Every day is a test of his patience, because these moments are nothing but a tease.

Castiel has decided by this point that he definitely has a crush on Dean and he’d started contemplating how socially acceptable it is to hit on a toll booth attendant while he’s working, but he’s really bad at reading signs. There was a time he thought Dean would have been open to a pass, but now he’s not so sure. Still, he finally decides he has nothing to lose, and he will hand Dean his business card with his cell phone number the next time he hands him his cash. It’s not like they have time for any drawn out courting, but maybe Dean will call him, and there can be time for  _more_  later.

The only problem is that the next time Castiel goes through the lane, Dean isn’t there.

He isn’t there for the rest of the week either.

He almost asks the new attendant where Dean is, but he figures he already looks enough like a creepy stalker in his trenchcoat, and stops himself. He lost his window of opportunity and that’s that. It’s what he gets for over thinking social niceties and not pulling Dean out of the toll booth and into his car and driving away with him.

~

He’s contemplating that I-Pass again when he gets stuck late, late at work and doesn’t make his trip home until almost midnight.

He would have fallen out of his car in shock, if such a thing was possible, when he gets to the tolls and it’s Dean who grouches out, “Three dollars.”

“Dean,” he gasps.

“Cas?” Dean replies, turning to look at him. “Holy shit, I thought I’d never see you again.”

“The feeling was mutual,” Cas assures him. It occurs to him that this is the most words they’ve ever exchanged at one time. The tolls are empty, no one is coming through their lane. In fact, Dean’s seems to be one of two lanes that wasn’t left on a self-pay setting.

“It is? Mutual?” Dean asks, confused. Cas nods, sincere, wonders if this is flirting yet. Dean stammers, which is all kinds of adorable. “I. I just assumed, after you didn’t call…”

“What? How would I…?” Castiel trails off because things start clicking into place. He sees a flash memory of Dean handing him a receipt he had pre-printed, handing it to him with a wink. He threw it away without thought. It had been the very next week that Dean had started acting differently.

“It was on that receipt,” Dean mumbles, palming his neck. “Which you clearly never saw. I’m a moron.”

“I think if anyone screwed that up, it was me,” Castiel tells him. Then, as a sign of solidarity, adds, “I was going to give you my card on Monday last week.”

“Really?” Dean asks, breaking out into a grin. There’s a pause as they just grin stupidly at each other, realization sinking in that they both want this. Whatever  _this_ may be. “Hey uh, my shift is over in ten minutes, can you wait, over there?” He indicates a side area. “We can go get coffee or something.”

Castiel doesn’t remember the last time he smiled so happily. “I would like that.”

~

A year later, Castiel finally has his I-Pass, but he pulls into the toll lanes anyway, straight up to Dean’s window.

Only he doesn’t hand Dean any money.

Instead, Cas hands him a ring.


End file.
